


Fever

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Feelings, Fever, Illnesses, M/M, Sick Character, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22447999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Steve finds out that Clint is sick so looks after him and nurses him back to health. However a surprise visit from Bruce reveals that Clint was faking it to have a reason to spend time with the Captain.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BarnesnMrNoble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarnesnMrNoble/gifts).



“Barton? Barton! Open the door!”

There was no response so Steve knocked harder, breaking the skin across his knuckles on the steel door. Only after he left a dent in the metal did he consider that Clint may not have his hearing aids in. Still, FRIDAY should have alerted the archer that there was someone at the door; Clint had protocols and flashing lights to alert him to everything from a world wide invasion to the pizza guy or a perfectly brewed cup of coffee. Even on a bad day, he shouldn’t be able to sleep through all of the alarms. 

Looking up at the ceiling, Steve asked, “FRIDAY? Is Clint in there?”

“Sure is, Captain. Scans suggest that he’s sick.”

“Is it serious?” Steve asked, about three seconds from tearing the door off its hinges to check on Clint. The team dealt with a lot of different threats. Just this week, they’d fought off a dinosaur from the distant planet Saros 5, thwarted an army of ghosts and saved the world’s population of cats from a madman’s mind control scheme. Clint could have come into contact with a deadly disease during any of those encounters.

The AI was quick to assure him otherwise. “Agent Barton has a raised temperature and a fever. Most likely nothing to worry about.”

Despite her kind words, Steve was still itching to check on Clint. “Could you let me in to see him, FRIDAY? Under… What’s the damn number? Protocol seven alpha five? Medical emergency?" 

"This hardly qualifies as a medical emergency, Captain,” FRIDAY retorted, amusement filling her words. “It’s unnecessary, regardless. Agent Barton has you on his open access list.”

Steve was taken aback by that - he couldn’t help but wonder whether everyone in the team was on Clint’s list or if it was just him; the thought that Clint might consider him special made his heart swell - but wasted no time dwelling on the possibility of what it really meant. The moment the heavy door clicked open, he stepped inside. 

Harsh sunlight flooded in through the open window, illuminating every inch of the room. That was a good sign, surely. That meant Clint had been able to get up and open the curtains. However, it could also mean that he’d not shut them since yesterday. 

Carefully avoiding the messy pile of used underwear (at least they were in one easily avoidable place, and not strewn across multiple chairs) and empty mugs, Steve strode towards Clint’s bed. He gently nudged the lump beneath the covers but received no response. After a second poke, Steve tentatively pulled back the quilt to reveal a nest of pillows and an empty bed. 

Passing an untouched cup of coffee - a terrible omen if Steve had ever seen one - he found the bathroom door slightly ajar. An uncomfortable dry heaving came from inside. Steve knocked tentatively on the wooden frame. “Barton? You in there? Can I come in?”

There was no reply, confirming to Steve that Clint was either without his aids or in too bad a state to respond. He slipped inside and found his teammate in a sad heap beside the toilet. Steve crouched down and lightly touched his shoulder, unprepared for Clint to jump back and swing his limbs in an uncoordinated attack.

His cheek throbbed at the impact but the pain quickly faded. Steve held his hands up in the air, the universal sign of peace, and slowly signed, _It’s okay, Hawkeye._

Clint’s groggy mind took a second to process the words. His bloodshot eyes focused on Steve as he groaned, “’M sick.”

 _I can see that,_ Steve replied. _Back to bed, come on._

“Too tired to get it up, Cap. Even for you.”

Steve decided not to acknowledge that. He slipped his arm around Clint and hauled him to his feet. It wasn’t an easy feat; despite being able to lift hundreds of pounds, Clint was a complete dead weight and far from easy to manoeuvre around the toilet and sink. 

He carried Clint out the bathroom, focused on his teammate’s uneven breathing and clammy skin against his. Steve had always been sick as a child and knew how dangerous a simple common cold could be. Added to the fact that he’d no idea how to help an ill person - given he’d not been in less than absolutely perfect health for 70 years - Steve was, understandably, a little panicked about the entire situation. 

That only increased when Clint stumbled beside him. The archer’s legs bucked and Steve barely managed to catch him before he hit his head on the side of a table. Practically cradling Clint against his body, Steve let out a tight breath when his concern was met with a smile. 

“Oh, hey.” Clint’s big blue eyes started up at Steve, sparkling despite their slightly jaundice appearance. He blinked a few times against the harsh sunlight, then quickly chose to bury his face against Steve’s chest instead. “What you doing here, Steve-o?”

“I’m gonna look after you, Barton,” the Captain said, setting Clint down on his bed. 

“You are?” He hummed happily. “Lucky me.”

Steve had barely finished tucking Clint in when an uneven, nasally sound filled the room. The low grumbling gave Steve cause for concern. His teammate slept often through mission briefing and never snored; the fact he was now was incredibly disconcerting. “FRIDAY, is he alright?”

“He will be fine.”

“How can I help him?”

“Simply keep Agent Barton hydrated and comfortable. He’ll be good as new in a day or two.”

“People heal that fast?”

FRIDAY made a noise which was the oral approximation of rolling her eyes. In Steve’s defence, he didn’t exactly have a ‘normal’ experience upon which to draw when it came to overcoming illness. Comfortingly, also slightly patronisingly, the AI said, “With proper rest, the human body is capable of remarkable healing - for a biological system. And Agent Barton has a very high natural rate of recovery. A good thing too, given how often he walks directly into harm’s way.”

Feeling better about Clint’s chances of survival, Steve sat on the edge of his bed and brushed the golden strands off his face. Clint’s clammy skin burned beneath Steve’s touch so he grabbed a damp cloth and placed it over the archer’s forehead. He hummed sleepily then rolled over, drawing the covers tightly around him. He soon stilled, and FRIDAY confirmed that he had reached a deep sleep.

Not wanting to leave him, Steve found the one book Clint owned and made himself comfortable in a chair across the room. 

***

After the serum, Steve hadn’t needed to sleep much. He could happily survive on less than an hour per night. It had always been a blessing as it gave him less time to dream - or, more accurately, be struck by nightmares. Now, it was a blessing for a different reason. It meant that he could spend practically all day with Clint, watching and tending to him. 

Sure, he was sick and snotty and all around a little gross but Steve couldn’t help but focus on how his nose scrunched up before he sneezed or how good his messy hair looked in the warm morning sunlight. So often he only saw Hawkeye, the tough - if clumsy - dude that shook off every injury and carried on as if it were nothing. Now, though, in the privacy of his room, Steve saw more of the real man behind the mask. 

“Stop staring at me when I’m sleeping, Cap. It’s creepy.”

Steve turned towards the window to hide the heat on his cheeks. This wasn’t the first time Clint had called him out for his lingering gaze this week. “Sorry. How you feeling today?”

“Can’t understand when I can’t see that handsome face of yours, Steve-o,” the archer teased. Steve turned back and repeated his question, flustered by the smile on Clint’s face as he signed. Reaching out to his bedside table, Clint grabbed his aids and slipped them into his ears. “A little less like death. Could do with more of that nice soup.”

Nice? Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That soup was many things - Mrs Sarah Rogers had claimed that it would cure everything, and she wasn’t wrong; there was no illness that broth couldn’t scare away - but delicious was not one of them. No one had ever enjoyed consuming it back in the 1930s. Steve certainly hadn’t. 

Still, he was glad that it was making a difference and Clint did look far better now. Steve selfishly almost said that there was none left; he didn’t want Clint to get better as then he’d have no reason to spend time with him. However, he couldn’t deny the archer.

For the next twelve hours, Steve continued to feed and hydrate Clint, enjoying his company immensely. Clint was far chipper today, able to continue a conversation with his trademark sharp wit. They spoke in a mix of ASL and spoken words, switching randomly as the topics flowed. Steve was mesmerised by how animated Clint could get. He rarely saw him so excitable, so enthusiastic as he practically spewed verses about dogs, the correct way to brew coffee and who he wanted to win and shag on this year of The Bachelor. 

The evening rolled around and Clint soon showed signs of fatigue once again.

“Lay down. Rest.”

“Stay?”

Steve paused then nodded. He hovered awkwardly beside the bed, unsure how to proceed. The obvious choice was the chair he’d been resting on this whole time but that suddenly seemed far away and distant. However, he didn’t want to be presumptuous and jump straight into bed with Clint, if that wasn’t what he wanted. 

Thankfully, Clint made his desires perfectly clear. He grabbed Steve by the hand and tugged him down beside him, tossing the quilt over his legs and cuddling up to his side. He shamelessly wriggled against Steve’s thigh, apparently totally aware of how responsive Steve was, and hummed cheerily. 

Sliding his arm around Steve’s waist, all but locking it into place, Clint murmured, “You’re like a hot, muscly teddy bear.”

As Clint’s breathing slowed, Steve allowed himself to relax and actually enjoy the closeness with his teammate. There was something incredibly intimate about this and, uncertain if it would ever happen again, Steve carefully committed every detail to memory. 

He draped his arm around Clint’s shoulders and pulled him closer, eyes drifting shut as he joined his teammate in peaceful sleep. 

***

The next morning, Steve was woken by a gentle knock on the door. Untangling himself from Clint, he spared the sleeping blond a fond glance. His heart was in his throat, foolish like a teenager in lover. He didn’t care though. 

A second knock tore him from his daydreams.

“Doctor Banner.” Steve greeted him politely at the door, surprised by the early morning visit. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What are you -” Bruce stopped himself from completing that question, eyes dropping to the ground when he realised the answer himself. Although an integral part of the team, Bruce still often kept to himself. He was observant, though, and as such knew all about who was sleeping with who. However he kept all the information secret, stating that it was none of his business either way. “Have you seen Clint?”

“Sure, he’s in bed. He’s not feeling well,” Steve clarified, as if that would make this any less awkward. He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing that this encounter would just end already. 

However, instead of taking the hint, Bruce merely frowned. “Still? It’s been days. The antibiotics I gave him should have cleared the infection from his system entirely.” Met with silence from Steve, Bruce continued, “When he wakes up, can you tell him I came by? If he’s up to it, I’d like him to come down to the lab so I can check on his recovery.”

Steve nodded and, after a short but polite goodbye, shut the door. He turned back to the bed to find Clint awake, sat up straight with a guilty look on his face. 

“In my defence, I was ill. Stepped in some of that alien dinosaur mucus and got sick. Bruce whipped up some meds to cure it and they stopped the worst symptoms. You should have seen the purple boils.” Clint grimaced, no doubt repressing that particular memory. Catching glimpse of Steve’s stoic expression, the archer bowed his head and continued, “The first day you found me, I promise I was sick. Yeah, the boils had gone and I wasn’t sneezing blue snot anymore but I did have a fever.”

“But…”

Clint looked about two seconds from burying his face in his pillow, drawing the covers over his head and never coming out of his cocoon of shame ever again. “It passed pretty quick.”

Despite the betrayal in confidence, Steve couldn’t bring himself to be angry. He crossed the room and perched on the edge of the mattress, lowering his voice. “Why did you lie? Why fake it?”

“I liked the attention you were giving me. We don’t have many reasons to spend time alone together. I liked that you were looking after me and I really liked the way you were looking at me. I really really liked sharing a bed with you. Are you mad?”

“No, not really,” Steve admitted. It was true. He wasn’t happy about being lied to, sure, but how could he complain when he’d gotten to spend the past few days with Clint? “Maybe next time you wanna hang out, just ask me for coffee?”

“Is coffee code for sex? Because then I’d definitely ask you for coffee.” Steve laughed, feeling heady as Clint leant in closer. The archer placed his hand on Steve’s thigh, edging slowly upwards when met with absolutely no resistance. “I’d ask you right now.”

Voice low as desire built within him, Steve murmured, “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ve been told,” Clint said, his gaze flickering down to Steve’s lips. “You gonna kiss me now or what?”

Steve wasted no time. He slipped his hand behind Clint’s neck and pulled him closer, finally closing the gap between them. The spark between them was incredible, like lightning. Clint immediately crawled into his lap, deepening the kiss and rocking gently against the Captain. Their hands were everywhere, exploring, sliding under clothes, cementing the connection between them. 

Flipping them over so Clint was beneath him, Steve took a moment to appreciate the view. Clint’s hair was tousled, his cheeks flushed and eyes wide as he stared up with desire. It was like something from a dream. Unbelievable. Steve leant down to kiss him again, only to pause. “What about Banner?”

“Not sure he’s into this sort of thing, Cap.” Clint drew his fingers over Steve’s back, itching to get back to business. 

“No, he wanted you to go down to the lab.”

Clint rolled his eyes, still fingering the edge of Steve’s t-shirt. “FRIDAY? Tell Banner I’ll be down in a few hours when I’m feeling stronger. Happy? Can we have sex now? Please?”

“A few hours, huh?” Steve grinned, brushing his lips over Clint’s. “You think you can keep up with me for that long?”

A smug smirk on his lips, Clint wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist and pulled him down until their bodies were tight against one another. The archer moaned softly, rolling his hips against Steve, relishing the friction but desperate for more as he fumbled with Steve’s zip. “I’m sure I can. The question is can you?”

Steve spent the next few hours proving over and over again that he most certainly could.


End file.
